


choices

by moonrocks



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Missing Scene, Sharing Clothes, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23852719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonrocks/pseuds/moonrocks
Summary: As Nacho prepares for his meeting with Don Eladio, he considers the possibility of killing Lalo himself.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	choices

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to write this but it kind of just happened.
> 
> Anyone else feel robbed of a 90s rom-com style montage where Nacho and Lalo try on different outfits before heading off to Don Eladio's? No? Just me? Okay.

Nacho stares down at the selection of clothing sprawled across the bed. Each option looks inexplicably more like something Lalo would wear than he would: airy Oxfords with designer tags still attached, cropped sleeve Cuban collar shirts, brightly patterned button-downs that would be at home in any 1970s department store catalogue, a silk button-up with a busy floral print that looks freshly pressed. 

Nacho examines each shirt until he finds the one thing he might be caught dead in: a black polo, simple enough to stomach but still somehow tainted by Lalo’s taste. Nacho eyes the greyish blue and gold detailing along the front, noting how it swirls and twists along the ribbed fabric. The shirt is much more ostentatious than anything Nacho would pick out for himself, especially for a meeting with the head of the Juarez Cartel. But Lalo seems dead set on showing him off like some prized possession, dressing him up, telling him what to say, telling him how to play along. 

Nacho grinds his teeth together at the thought. He exhales nervously, then runs a hand over his face as his forehead blossoms with sweat.

_Three AM. Southern gate._

He repeats the instructions he was given on the phone over and over again in his head.

_Three AM. Southern gate._

He can see the exit. He just has to make it a few more hours. A few more with Lalo at the hacienda, then a few more waiting for the plan to be put in motion.

_Three AM. Southern gate._

Nacho takes off his button-up—which still reeks from the unexpected eight-hour-long road trip—and pulls the polo on. Along with looking expensive, the material is soft enough against his skin that it _feels_ expensive too. Paired with his chain, it appears to be an appropriate uniform for any Salamanca lackey worth his weight, but it fits too snugly around his arms, the hem long enough that he has to tuck it into his jeans to look presentable. He only has time enough to fasten the first two buttons before he hears a knock on the guest bedroom door and his fingers stall.

The sudden sound causes the hair on the back of his neck to prickle, but he knows there is no danger here, at least not yet. Lalo is as unassuming as he is excited about the prospect of Eladio giving Nacho the promotion. In fact, Lalo seems determined to trust him after what happened with Goodman. Why else would Lalo drag him to Mexico, let alone to his home? Nacho prefers the benevolent explanation to a less favourable one, not that it will matter for much longer.

“Ayo, Nacho.” Lalo knocks again, then a second time. “ _Vamos, abre la puerta, por favor._ ”

His voice, slightly muffled on the other side of the door, is brimming with childlike giddiness. Nacho reluctantly answers it. When it opens, he is met with the sight of Lalo, fresh out of the shower and wearing a loosely tied bathrobe. Lalo casually leans against the door jamb, the bathrobe half-open to reveal his chest, pendant glinting around his neck. Nacho looks him up and down, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his shamelessness until an unwelcome heat overtakes his annoyance. Nacho crosses his arms over his chest, becoming almost shy with the realization that he’s standing in front of Lalo wearing his hand-me-downs while Lalo wears next to nothing.

“I think Yolanda might have given you the shirt I wanted to wear by mistake,” Lalo explains with a wolfish smile. “I asked her to iron it for me.”

Lalo no longer smells like gasoline and motor oil but aftershave and cologne, his wet hair slicked back against his head and his facial hair recently touched up with a trimmer. Nacho is bothered that he notices.

“Which one?” Nacho asks. He looks over at the unorderly stack of shirts on the bed, but Lalo is already inviting himself in, slipping past Nacho to step into the bedroom. Nacho would protest, but it would be a waste of breath.

“Black, flowers, silk, Armani or some shit,” Lalo lists off. He laughs as he rifles through the clothes, hangers clacking against one another. “Ah, here it is. Just as I thought.”

Lalo holds up the shirt Nacho had taken note of before, but his eyes are solely fixed on Nacho’s selection of clothing. 

“Hey, that looks good on you,” Lalo says with a wag of his finger. “Good choice. Except, you should wear it like this . . .” 

Lalo crowds into Nacho’s space, his hands coming to rest near Nacho’s collar, thumbing at the buttons there. Nacho feels his pulse quicken. Maybe because of his fight-or-flight response. Maybe because of something else.

“Dress to impress, right?” Lalo says. 

“Is that what impresses these guys?” Nacho asks. “Image?”

“Not image, showmanship,” Lalo says as he fastens a single button with steady fingers. “Bolsa and Fring never seem to get it right, but I do. I know Eladio appreciates this sort of thing. It never hurts to look the part. Does it?” 

Nacho looks at Lalo straight-faced, feeling poked and prodded at still, and Lalo rolls his eyes.

“Come on, Ignacio. You gotta relax a little.” His tone is similar to when he was scolding Ciro: condescending yet playful with the promise of violence. “Even if this is your first time meeting Don Eladio, you have to remember this is first and foremost a party. Lots of booze, lots of women, music, cigars, food, yadah, yadah. You got it?”

Nacho nods. “I got it.”

“Look, you get on his good side and you’re golden, my friend,” Lalo says. “By the time I’m done with Eladio, he’ll be all buttered up for you. You’ll see.”

Lalo takes his time fastening the rest of the buttons beneath Nacho’s throat, likely noticing when Nacho swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. He’s not afraid of Lalo anymore, but he’s not interested in anything Lalo has to offer him either. In under twelve hours, Lalo will die. Nacho thought he might feel relief when he looked at Lalo and saw a dead man walking staring right back at him. Instead, he feels resignation.

Getting rid of Tuco was his choice. Causing Hector’s stroke was his choice. But whatever happens to Lalo isn’t. Sometimes Nacho wonders what could have happened if Fring allowed him to deal with Lalo on his own terms. Fring is intelligent, calculating, but putting a hit out on Lalo isn’t exactly clever, especially not organizing it to happen the same day Lalo returns home. After the trouble Lalo caused, Fring must be more than eager to get rid of him.

Nacho could have done it himself. He could have figured out a way that would have drawn less attention than hiring a team of assassins to ambush the home of a second-generation cartel member. Even now, Lalo is so close. Close enough to kill. Nacho could wrap his hands around Lalo’s throat and Lalo would probably laugh until Nacho tightened his grip. 

There are knives in the kitchen just waiting to be dulled against blanched bone, gasoline in the garage and matches by the fire pit that would pair well together. Nacho doesn’t have a gun of his own here, but Lalo carries most of the time. There are easy enough ways to get someone undressed. Nacho could shoot Lalo down in his own bed. Even before Lalo brought him to Mexico, he could have put poison in his food or rigged his car to malfunction so it would crash on the track. Nacho would have come up with something given the chance. But no, he has no other choice. No other choice but to go along with what Fring has planned. No other choice but to be paraded around for Don Eladio and his cronies, just another asset for another man.

“Still nervous, Ignacio?” Lalo asks, smoothing out a wrinkle on Nacho’s collar with his thumb. “Hm?”

He finally drops his hands to his sides. Nacho tries not to let his disdain reveal itself on his face. His is anger is not necessarily for the man in front of him—who appears deceptively docile and forgiving right now—but for the position Fring has put him in. Fring has teared away his agency, rid him of any and all ownership he once had over himself and his fate. Or anyone else’s fate.

“No,” Nacho says, answering a different question from the one Lalo is asking. “Not really.”

“Good.” Lalo winks at him, making a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth. “Eladio’s gonna love you, man.” He pats Nacho on the shoulder, not ungently, not unaffectionately. “Trust me.”

_Three AM. Southern gate._

_Three AM. Southern gate._

_Three AM. Southern gate._

“I do,” Nacho says.

Lalo gives Nacho a nod of approval, grabs his ironed shirt again, then leaves. He pads down the hall in his bare feet, whistling a painfully recognizable tune. Nacho quietly shuts the door behind him, feeling unfamiliar in his clothes and his skin. 

He would rather kill Lalo himself.

At least it would be a choice. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is so much shorter than my usual stuff but please let me know what you thought! I really wanted to comment on Nacho's lack of choice in the finale, and I hope I did that here just a little bit.
> 
> Also, Lalo sexy.


End file.
